Back in Black
by Curiosity's Principle
Summary: Post-Season 3 finale! After Dean's death, Sam becomes reckless, no longer caring if he lives or dies. Will a visit from his brother bring him to his senses? Is the vision real or an illusion? And how long in Hell does it take to turn one into a monster


Author's note: Hey all. In honor of the 4th season to start tomorrow, I'm posting the beginning of a fic I started, though it works well as a thought provoker on its own. The story takes place after the end of season 3 and what might have happened afterwards. I'm sure there have been a bunch of other stories post-season 3 finale, but I had to put on a spin of my own. Tell me what you think!

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SUPERNATURAL:Back in Black

_By: Curiosity's Principle_

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It had been a while since he slept. Even so he knew he was dreaming as he walked the street of the desolate and nameless city. Around him buildings were aflame and demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and all the other supernatural creatures that Sam had ever hunted wreaked havoc around him. Innocents ran to and from burning homes crying and screaming. Dogs ran loose, trying to escape a world gone mad. Everything was falling apart around him, but Sam didn't lift a finger. He couldn't. In this dream he was petrified, scared as much as everyone else, but it was his sense of failure that got him most. Sam had failed to save Dean, allowed him to be taken to a place worse than this hell on Earth that he now walked though. He couldn't save anyone anymore, he knew. He was lost, alone, and being hunted.

Suddenly all the creatures exacting their chaos stopped what they were doing and turned in unison to face him. Sam kept walking, slow and numb. He didn't meet their gazes but felt a chill creep up his spine at their attention. He knew what was going to happen. They were going to attack him and Sam wasn't sure that he could or would do anything to stop it.

Then strong hands clasped him by the arms and he felt a figure at his side leading him towards the only in tact establishment in view. Sam let himself be led away from the monsters, into the restaurant, and maneuvered into a booth at the back. It was only when the figure sat down across from him that the fog in Sam's mind began to clear.

"Dean?"

The figure of his brother flashed a smile and leaned forward on the table.

"In the flesh." Dean paused then winced slightly. "Sort of."

Sam blinked. "What's going on?"

"That's what I'd like to know. Have you been _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

The younger brother looked away guiltily, his mind trying to grasp what was going on.

"Are you real?" he asked.

"Hey, don't change the subject. You've been careless lately, in case you haven't noticed. What the hell's wrong with you? If it weren't for Bobby yesterday, you'd be dead! How do you think that'd make him feel? Or me, for that matter."

Sam had no reply. Dean sighed and leaned back.

"Look, Sammy, I know it's been rough. Believe me I know, I've been there, but you've gotta be strong now. There's nothing more you can do for me."

"I don't believe that!"

"Yes you do," Dean replied calmly. "That's why you're being so reckless."

Sam stared at his brother a long moment then looked away. "I tried everything, Dean, and I still couldn't save you."

"I know."

"And now it's like... like there's nothing left."

"Like there's a hole inside of you that keeps getting bigger," Dean continued, as if reading Sam's mind.

"And it's filled with this... darkness that's eating me alive," Sam finished.

Dean crossed his arms. "Well, you're just going to have to get over it," he replied simply.

Fury exploded inside Sam and he found himself standing sharply. "Get over it?! Damn you, how am I supposed to get over it?! You were my brother and I failed you! You did it for me, but I couldn't do it for you! It's not fair! It's not-!"

Sam broke off as Dean stood up and grabbed Sam roughly by the shirt. "I did do it for you. I sold my soul to bring you back, so don't go getting yourself killed so that I went to Hell for nothing! Maybe it's not fair, nothing is freakin' fair, but you owe it to me and to everyone else to survive! You've got to live, Sammy, and stop these demons from takin' over, you understand me?"

Dean shoved Sam back and the younger brother fell back into the cushioned seat. They were quiet for several seconds.

"Sam, you remember the trickster and that whole Groundhog Day thing?" Dean asked as he too sat back down.

Sam nodded stiffly. How could he forget? He'd seen his brother die a hundred different times. Then, just when they thought they'd escaped the trickster's madness, Dean died again. Only that time he'd stayed dead. For more than six months Sam had gone off on his own, caring about nothing but hunting down that creature and forcing him to bring Dean back.

"I tried to find him after you died- after you died this last time," Sam amended. "But I never could."

"I know, but that's not what I was getting at."

Sam looked up questioningly.

"Remember how single minded you were about getting me back? But even then you were doing good things. Killin' the demons, helpin' people. You were still a little psycho," this brought a small sad smile to Sam's face, "but you were fighting the good fight. If you still want to save me from Hell, fine. Keep looking. I appreciate the thought. But don't plan on getting yourself killed just so you can come down for a first hand visit, ok? And in the mean time, try doing what you're supposed to be doing, huh?"

Sam found himself nodding. "Yeah."

"I mean it, Sammy."

"I know. You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just do it," Dean ordered.

Sam frowned. "Why do you have to be such a jerk?"

Dean smiled. "It's my job as older brother. Just like your's is to be a pain in the ass."

Sam found himself laughing. It was strange. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed. Then he felt something, a dizzying feeling, and knew that he was waking up. He looked imploringly at Dean as if asking him to keep him asleep.

"Sorry, Sam. It's wake up time. Try not to get yourself killed," Dean replied.

Sam nodded and found himself asking the obvious question. "You are just a dream, aren't you?"

Sam saw Dean frown through the haze that was increasingly blurring his vision. "I'm what you need me to be."

Sam awoke with a start and immediately regretted the jerky movement as pain arced through him where stitches sewed his side together. Bobby was at his side immediately, concern on his face.

"You ok, boy?"

Sam nodded, sitting himself up slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The older man gave a gruff 'hmph' of acceptance and after looking at his bloody bandages, began to move off. Sam watched him go, the words of his dream brother echoing through his mind. It'd just been a dream, but it had been soothing to hear his brother's voice, to fight with him as he once had, and (somewhat surprisingly) to listen to his wisdom. It being just a dream, Sam knew that it was really his own wisdom, his own common sense that had been telling him to get a hold of himself, but still... Even if it had been an illusion, it had felt, for a moment, like old times. Sam cleared his throat.

"Hey, Bobby?"

The old hunter turned to look at him from the table where he was going through a first aid kit.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry about all this. About how I've been acting... I just..." Sam swallowed hard, searching for words. "I just miss him, you know?"

Bobby looked surprised. Sam had hardly been very talkative ever since the Hell Hound had brutally killed Dean and dragged his soul down to Hell right before his eyes. Bobby had tried to talk Sam out of his reckless behavior, but it had been useless. He'd seen both boys now once they'd lost each other and saw how much they needed each other. Had it been an option, Bobby knew Sam would have sold his own soul to bring Dean back by now.

And now suddenly, without any noticeable reason, Sam seemed to have come to his senses.

"You sure you're all right?"

Sam gave a small laugh. "No. I'm not alright. I'll never be alright... But I'm still sorry."

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It hurt. And it hurt like Hell. Literally. There was no way to get numb to that sort of thing. You'd think there would be. Some living people can get used to pain, but that's pain of the body. There is no way to become accustomed to pain of the soul. Even after it's made you hard, made you angry, resentful. Different.

Every demon was said to have once been human. How long did it take? How long would a strong will maintain the soul's humanity.

Dean liked to think he had a strong will. He reacted to pain, mental or physical, with jokes and sarcasm to make it seem less real, but that was hard to keep up. It hadn't been more than a week before his humor had been lost. Soon after that, physical torture worse than anything he could have imagined gave way to a mental torture that was even worse.

It seemed like an eternity and then some. Who knew how long it really was. It didn't matter really. He couldn't remember anything that mattered anymore. There was some vestigial idea concerning his brother that remained, buried in the back of his mind, but the meaning eluded him. Especially when, trapped in a Hellspawend illusion, he was staring down the barrel of a .45 into his brother's cold angry eyes.

The demons, or whatever was in charge of torturing the dead, seemed to enjoy making illusions that involved Sam hunting Dean down, betraying and killing him. Another favorite was forcing him to watch Sam die, over and over. They were illusions, it wasn't real. Dean knew this. He reminded himself of that fact every time Sam screamed for help and every time Sam or Bobby or his dad put a gun to Dean's head. But even so, every time Sam pulled the trigger, every time Dean's little brother taunted him from the darkness and told him how he'd enjoy making the kill because Dean had become a monster, something of Dean Winchester was lost.

How long did it take to really make him a monster? Dean didn't know. But the psychological questions had stopped coming to mind by the time a light and the cool breeze from the living plane taunted Dean from the darkness. How he'd come across it, he didn't know. Whether it was real, whether it was a trap, he didn't know. But never could he pass up the possibility of escaping from this place. No matter what horrors he had to cross to get there, instinct more than anything conscious propelled him towards escape and possible freedom...

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-.-End?-.-

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AN: Comments? Rants about cliffhangers? Leave a review! Critiques welcome as is the occasional pat on the back, but kindly no flames.


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